


Evidence, Not Proof

by straightlycurved



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angry Reid, JJ sucked after the pentagon, Reid actually acts in character, Trust Issues Reid, emily guilt trips reid, the writers suck, those two were stuck up and entitled assholes during that episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25868245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightlycurved/pseuds/straightlycurved
Summary: canon divergence from 7x02: "Proof". one-shot rn but more if y'all be wanting that.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss & Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau & Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid & David Rossi, Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Comments: 39
Kudos: 178





	1. spencer

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: wrote this because the damned writers messed up the reid angry at jj storyline to hell and back. so much potential, yet done so unrealistically-this is my take. possibly more chapters if enough people want it.

**a/n: wrote this because the damned writers messed up the reid angry at jj storyline to hell and back. so much potential, yet done so unrealistically-this is my take. possibly more chapters if enough people want it.**

"Hey, where have you been? I wanted to do brunch this weekend."

"I had to deal with some stuff with my mom; where's Garcia?"

* * *

"Charm's quite the killer."

"So are tears."

* * *

"Maybe she offended him."

"Wonder what that's like."

* * *

"You know what I think it is?"

"What?"

"You're mad that Hotch and I controlled our _micro-expressions_ at the hospital and you weren't able to detect our deception."

"You think this is about my _profiling skills?!_ Jennifer, listen: the only reason you were able to manage my _perceptions_ is because I TRUSTED YOU! I came to your house _crying_ for TEN weeks in a row, crying over losing a friend, and not ONCE did you have the decency to tell me the truth."

* * *

"What if I had started taking Dilaudid again? Would you have let me?"

"You didn't."

"Yeah, but I thought about it."

* * *

"Look, Reid, I know you're mad at us because we didn't tell you what really happened, and I understand that. But I promise you, we had no choice. You mourned the loss of a friend. I mourned the loss of six."

_There's no way you just said that._

* * *

"I'm sorry!"

"It's too late, alright?!"

* * *

_The audacity._ Spencer Reid was not one to get angry easily. He was the kindest, most caring person you'd ever meet. Very few things would ever set him off, a defense mechanism from the years of torment he suffered through at the hands of his childhood bullies. But if he got mad, he became _furious_.

And while his high school bullies may have made him a person not prone to getting mad, they also left behind scars. One of those scars also served as a trigger to his anger. Spencer did not trust easily, meaning, if one betrayed his trust, they'd never get it back.

Two of his closest friends-people with whom he had to _entrust his life_ -were full well aware of this, still lied straight to his face, and were now trying to _guilt trip him_ into forgiving them. Reid had often thought his profiling experience would help him understand others. Today, the only thing he understood was that he never would.

The fact that JJ and Emily- _NO. They're Jennifer and Prentiss to you now._ The fact that Jennifer and Prentiss had thought that if they appealed to his sense of pity, to his empathy, that he would forgive them, was astounding. He was not a video game to play. He was not an asset to manipulate.

Worst of all, her statement _wasn't even true,_ he thought to himself with a morbid smile. Emily Prentiss did not mourn anything at all. No one had died. She _knew_ that all of her friends were alive. No, what she did was incur a necessary loss to ensure her survival. She did NOT carry a casket with the thought of _she shouldn't be in there, it's my fault, please don't hate me, I'm never good enough, I need to say goodbye._

For God's- _there is no god,_ Spencer thought to himself, his smile growing into a worryingly mirthful grin that he couldn't have stopped, even if he had been aware of it. _For Pete's sake, Prentiss, you played online Scrabble on an UNENCRYPTED signal. And Jennifer, you knew the depth of Doyle's information on us. Named yourself "CheetoBreath". You think he wouldn't figure it all out?_

Brain racing a mile a minute, Dr. Reid continued his ever-so-depressing chain of contemplations. _If only they'd understood._ If only Spencer had been treated as an adult with feelings, nothing would have happened. He was _not_ a child putting up a fit because he didn't want to go to bed. He needed time. He needed space. How the hell else was he supposed to deal with the knowledge that someone he _nearly killed himself for_ was actually alive and well the whole fucking time?! If only...then Reid wouldn't be in this predicament.

He was faced with an impossible choice, and he could not think of one person to talk to about it.

* * *

From across the plane, the BAU watched as Reid's face contorted into a dark smirk. All of them were worried. Well, most of them.

JJ and Emily were still acting like total assholes, believing they were _entitled_ to a full-blown apology, something they felt they should not have had to beg for, and fuming that their dinner invitation was shot down. They sat together, wallowing in self-pity.

Hotch glanced up every so often, taking a break from unit chief paperwork and checking on the young agent. It was one of the first times Aaron was not able to read him. His body language was closed off, hostile; yet he was smiling. And scarily, at that, but Hotch understood. He admitted he had made some bad calls.

Morgan was trying to be discreet, but he too was trying to keep an eye on Reid using his peripheral vision. Spencer was like a little brother to him, the one he never had; Derek cared about him a lot. He could also feel the anger emanating off the gangly man's body, surprising Morgan considering _he_ was the one with a short fuse. Nevertheless, the Chicago native wanted to make sure he was doing okay.

The most experienced man watched Spencer like a hawk. Even with the best profiling skills, the only things Rossi could discern were an inhuman amount of fury, and internal battle raging in his head as his eyes moved imperceptibly, following a train of thought that was lost on the world. Knowing better than to approach, Rossi waited.

Hours later, hazel met dark brown and Reid's eyes softened. Rossi took this as invitation and made his way over to an obviously-in-turmoil agent.

"Before you even start, don't try to tell me to forgive them or something," Reid said angrily.

"I know, I won't, kid. You have every right to be angry at them," Rossi responded.

"Damn right I do-wait, what?" his eyes widened in surprise.

"You heard me, Reid. The way they treated you was unacceptable. They should have given you your space. Instead, they acted like you were a pouting kindergartener."

"What am I supposed to do, Rossi? If they'd just _read the room,_ hell, if they knew me _at all_ , they should have known crowding me and trying to guilt trip me would end up doing more harm than good," whispered Spencer. "I don't know if I should do what my heart's telling me to do. I'm a man of logic-I think things through, but for some reason I feel like my mind is wrong this time around."

"Do what feels _right_ to you. Don't choose out of loyalty or necessity or habit. I know that look in your eyes and I know what I would do in your situation. I had to make the same decision all those years ago. It's up to you to do the rest."

"How do I know if what I'm choosing is right? What if I choose something that makes me unhappy?"

"You won't know right away, Spencer. But either one will work itself out in the end. Things have a funny way of doing that. If you need to talk again, the dinner party invitation extends to you always," Rossi offered.

"I can't even stand to be in the same _city_ as them right now," Reid said desperately. "Not after they tried to guilt me into going…"

"Before they all come, then. Just you and me. A... _chemistry_ lesson. You'll need it, either to make peace with what you did or make the final call."

Reid smiled again, and this time it was reminiscent of a bleak ray of sunshine parting the gray overcast just after dawn. "I just might take you up on that."

* * *

Sunrise came, but it was _not_ overcast; it brought an eternal night, as the fate of his future weighed on Dr. Spencer Reid's shoulders. He had not entered the embrace of Morpheus that night, the cortisol coursing through his blood like Dilaudid had five years ago.

An oft-unused laptop sat, searing hot, upon his legs, running low on energy from the constant deletion and rewrites of letters. There was only one place he could go right now for peace. Without needing to change, Dr. Reid slipped out the door just as the sun slipped out from the bottom of the horizon.

The chilly morning air, the deserted park, the frosty chessboard; all of these brought the good doctor some well-needed oblivion. His brain suddenly sharpened as the weariness was fought off by quickly firing synapses. Every possible permutation of a chess game was brought to Spencer's head, and there was nothing more mind-numbing than a game of anything against yourself.

Playing oneself was like talking to a wall in that you knew nothing would ever come of it; an endless stalemate; a one-sided affair although two were present; an outlet; an opponent whose life you knew; but who knew everything about you in return.

Cathartic.

As he often did, Reid delved into the depths of his mind; a very dangerous act for one whose specialty was teetering over the brink of total insanity. Truly a shame, it was: one of the greatest vaults of knowledge in the world, yet it knew so little about itself. It was much like jumping into a dark hole. Having no idea what was waiting for you at the end. But for today, it was a necessary evil.

After an arduous, mentally draining internal dialogue that took Spencer nearly three hours to reach the conclusion of, he finally knew what he needed to write.

* * *

The sun had risen, hit its peak, and had two hours left of its reign when Rossi heard his doorbell ring. A feeling of dread settled in his stomach. He knew exactly what Reid's predicament was, and he also knew _exactly_ what he'd do personally if he was faced with the same. _But,_ Rossi thought, knowing it was selfish, _I'm not sure the team can handle that right now._

David opened the large spruce door and outside stood a disheveled Reid. Rossi took him all in: the bags under his eyes, the unkempt hair, the wrinkled clothes. And he knew. He knew that Reid had put himself through hell and back, running through every possible scenario, every possible outcome. _I was right yesterday,_ the Italian thought. _He needs this._

"Two hours, kid. Two hours and you'll be eating the best damn pasta you've ever eaten in your life."

Two hours it took, and Rossi had been glad to know he could ease at least some of Reid's apprehension, with him being noticeably happier.

Softly, Reid began, "Thanks for this, Rossi. You really didn-"

"Ah, ah, ah... I _did_ have to. You needed it. Anytime, kid. Anytime. Now get your butt out of here and do what you need to do, unless you want to deal with JJ and Emily. Unfortunately, I now have to listen to them undoubtedly bitch about it after a couple glasses of wine."

Spencer let out a small chuckle.

"Now, _go!"_ Rossi ordered playfully, chipper attitude masking the trepidation he felt.

* * *

Spencer Reid arrived at Quantico, knowing no one of consequence would be in the office at this hour on a Saturday after a case. With more confidence than he thought he had, Spencer strode to the elevator and exited after it reached floor six. He had to project an air of belonging-no one could know what he was doing. No one could remember that he had been there.

The bullpen was sparsely populated-two trainees at their desk, undoubtedly doing paperwork for a higher-up, and a Probationary Agent. None of them would notice him if he did this right. Reid took a deep breath before dramatically slowing his pace. After ascending the stairs, he took a solid four minutes to compose himself, to make sure he was doing what he felt was right.

In the innermost part of himself, he inherently knew the answer. Spencer opened the door to Hotch's office an inch at a time, stepping inside for what would prove to be the most eventful appearance there yet. He edged closer to the Unit Chief's desk, moving at a snail's pace to delay the inevitable as much as possible.

Reid gripped the edge of the wood as he reached it. Knuckles as white as his complexion. Gathering all of the courage left in him, he looked around to make sure no one saw him. He closed the door, locked it, and tearfully did what he needed to do.

_TBC? ;)_


	2. derek

The letter.

The letter was all that was left of his best friend.

Ironically, it acted like a paper shredder, tearing what was left of his heart to smaller and smaller pieces every time he read it.

* * *

The gun.

The gun sat there, innocently, as if tragedy hadn't struck.

As if it wasn't a catalyst of the pain he felt, the Smith & Wesson that only one member of the team carried, reminding him of the sheer uniqueness of its owner.

* * *

He couldn't believe that Spencer had felt so alone...so betrayed...so tired that he had resorted to this.

He refused to accept that there would be no more coffee-flavored sugar, that there would be no more long-winded rambles, no more genius in the BAU.

Reid had spent 22 years working through the worst life had thrown at him, to make it to the BAU, to earn their respect, to help make the world a better place, and yet the place he'd helped build up had torn him down without a second thought, like a house in the path of a hurricane.

A hurricane. That would definitely serve as an appropriate word for the events that had transpired over the past few weeks. The sorrow had engulfed Derek Morgan like fire clinging to a log; showing only flickers himself between the flames he had surrounded himself in.

Fire and water; yin and yang; total opposites; canceling each other out; a net zero-even though the results of this mess were as far from net zero as possible, it was still inexplicably the only way to describe the situation. A hurricane and flames. Their eternal dance continued in the silence of Morgan's head, and he was left with nothing to do but recall what he had felt.

* * *

Derek told Emily he wasn't angry that she had faked her death; that after all, she was here, and alive and well; how could he be angry at that?

This wasn't entirely true. He definitely was angry, just not at Prentiss. He was _furious_ with JJ and especially Hotch. What was it the Unit Chief had said? "If you've got any problems, they should be directed to me?" Well, shit, of course he had problems with this!

Had he not trusted the team enough, had he not trusted _Derek_ enough, to tell him? Had Hotch somehow deemed him not worthy of knowing? Was he not a strong enough person to keep his mouth shut? Had Hotch thought Morgan such a bad friend that he would somehow let Doyle know that Emily had survived?

And all of this coming from the man who had preached trust to him three years ago after Kate Joyner had died in New York.

Rage simmered and threatened to boil over as he first dealt with Doyle and his death, then the Senate committee hearing, then the fact of understanding.

Understanding that someone whose life had bled out from between his hands, who had died as a result of _his_ inaction, whose casket he carried to a graveyard, whose _eulogy he had delivered_ , whose picture he saw everyday on the wall of fallen heroes, whose...death had weighed on Morgan a guilt heavier than anything he had ever carried...

Every day, Morgan got out of bed feeling like at every step, some dark monster, some nightmare, was grabbing at his ankles and threatening to pull him back, into a pit of despair, into a place Morgan had not visited since _Buford._

Yes, Prentiss' death had brought upon him memories of days in Chicago he'd never wanted to relive again, yet he was forced to, as he took one step, then another, then another, all the while forcing himself to keep his eyes open in a world _every single second,_ fighting against his desperate desire to let go, to spiral, to give up on life.

He had to deal with understanding that he had to go through all of this, all of this torture, this pain, this guilt, only to learn that she was _enjoying online Scrabble in Paris with JJ._

To say the least, he was angry, and the team was a fraction of a misstep away from Derek's full wrath being unleashed on every soul he'd come in contact with.

Until he'd seen how Spencer had reacted. Once he'd seen the pure sense of _betrayal_ etched into Reid's eyes as he realized that JJ had lied to him for ten weeks.

And suddenly, all of Morgan's feelings were thrown out of the window, concern for his little brother trumping all other emotion, stomping out the remaining weak flames like a shoe crushing an _ant._

Derek tried to keep Reid safe, to keep everyone from stoking the flames any further than they had already risen, a dangerous aura settling around Spencer.

For that was the depth of love Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan held toward Dr. Spencer Reid.

But now, all he was left with was this letter, this _stupid fucking piece of paper_ that informed Morgan that Reid had chosen to abandon him, throwing eight whole years of life out of the window. Abandoning the place where, Reid had once confided in him, he hoped to work till the day his grave was dug.

Today, it felt like the BAU's grave was dug. The most innocent of all of them, their pride and joy, their resident genius, the most honorable person one would ever meet, had been hurt by them on such a level that he had left the place all alone.

_To whomever it may concern,_

The letter had started, and already Morgan felt an ache at the fact that there was no endearment to ease them into the pain,

_Today I leave you. My trust in this team has been eroded such that I no longer feel safe putting my lives in your hands._

A single tear rolled down Derek's face.

_I have worked by you and with you for eight years now, with some of you even less. The BAU has changed my life._

"It did, didn't it kid…" Morgan whispered, more water pooling in his eyes uncharacteristically.

_But I cannot knowingly do this anymore, putting all of my trust into you when you refuse to reciprocate._

Derek smiled sorrowfully when he realized that even in pain, he and his little brother were often in sync, feeling the same things, like their heart had beat with the same rhythm when he had chosen to write this.

_Today, I officially offer my resignation from the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Next to this letter will be my badge and gun, that I have officially turned in._

Morgan had never expected to see the gun without the Reid-esque position of the holster the brunette wore, crushing even further a heart on the verge of failing.

_Sincerely,_

_Dr. Spencer Reid_

_Former Supervisory Special Agent_

"Former…" Next to those three items were four notes.

_To Henry: Know I will always love you. Please do not feel like you did anything wrong, Henry. I love you so, so much. I am really sorry that I have to leave you. I know you will grow up into the finest young man. - Uncle Spence_

Morgan had to laugh at this. No one could ever be a better man than Spencer Reid, but his godson would surely come close.

_To Rossi: Thank you. You know why._

Morgan briefly wondered what it was.

_To Gideon: Thank you for giving that lecture at Caltech, for seeing something in me that even I couldn't see in myself. You were the father I never had._

Derek had half a mind to have Garcia track down the former profiler.

_To Derek: You took me under your wing. You helped me gain confidence. You loved me more than I knew anyone ever could. I loved you back. Forever your little brother, and with much love, Pretty Boy._

His heart stopped beating.

_TBC :000, lmk if y'all want more_


	3. the rest.

**a/n: i hope y'all know that your reviews mean everything to me. tysfm for the kind words.**

"Why the hell is Hotch calling us in so early?"

* * *

"Where's everything on his desk? The books, the files, the nameplate?"

* * *

He walked in, a weary look on his face, the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Reid resigned Friday night."

* * *

It was on his desk.

* * *

When Aaron Hotchner walked in on Monday morning, the last thing he expected to see was a letter of resignation, much less a gun and a badge. But there they were.

He was not usually one to second-guess himself, but Hotch wondered when exactly he had messed up so badly as team leader, losing the foresight to anticipate his team's reactions to his decisions. When exactly had he lost his touch as a profiler, not being able to see this was coming? When had he become such a bad friend, to not stop and think about how much a tactical decision would cost the ones he loved dearly?

Why had Aaron not seen it? There were multiple solutions to his problems, and out of A or B he had chosen C. The worst possible solution. And he would never show it, but he was not nearly as level-headed in stressful situations as one might think. He could look a serial killer in the eyes, stare down a barrel of a gun, murder without so much as flinching. So why couldn't he, in the safety of a hospital, recognize that the best place for a queen in danger was among her knights?

He did not know. Hotch was just coming to the realization that putting tact over everything had cost him immeasurably; first, his marriage, then his wife and nearly his son, and now a man he had thought of a second son. It was painful to see the sorrow in the words of Spencer's passive-aggressive letter, every letter piercing the core of a jaded soul.

And how was he supposed to take this letter to his superiors, explain what exactly he had done to warrant such a scathing and sudden departure of the Bureau's most valuable intellectual asset? Strauss would rip him apart, and the Congressional review board would most certainly reignite their investigation into the team's actions-this time costing them much more than just a hearing. This time, it could cost them _everything_.

Even the daggers from Foyet did not cause so much agony.

* * *

Ambivalence.

A word that perfectly described what Rossi felt as Hotch broke the news to the team. That the kid resigned, that he wasn't coming back, that from now on the BAU had zero right to keep track of him.

He already knew, of course. He'd known since Reid first took a sip of wine at his house. After all, the Italian wasn't a millionaire FBI Agent because he was _bad_ at his job. Reading Spencer on the plane might have been hard, but at David's own house, in his own element, Reid was a literary masterpiece surpassing even Rossi's books.

It was definitely the right decision, but it didn't mean he wasn't disappointed all the same. At first, when the man had come out of retirement, the kid seemed like a geeky fanboy, not well-suited for the FBI, but for a library. Yet over time, Reid had grown on Rossi, and they developed a great relationship.

Four years of friendship was a lot. And that was why David had given him the best advice, and not selfishly convinced him to stay. He loved Spencer too much to tell him that. It was just that he had happened upon this information at an inopportune time, like stumbling over a precious gem just as you were about to cross the finish line.

So while David Rossi was very happy for the brightest man he knew, he just couldn't help but feel as if it was partly his fault. Maybe if he hadn't sat with him on the plane, maybe if he tried a little harder to keep him…

No amount of money would ever let him turn back time.

* * *

_Change_ was simply not a word in Penelope Garcia's vocabulary.

No, after leading a very volatile life, all she craved was love and stability, the latter more so than the former. But it simply hadn't been in the cards for the past few months, and now she felt like she was on the verge of breaking down.

First, her oldest girlfriend, JJ, had been forced to the Pentagon, and even if they kept in touch, it was enough to make her grab the rest of her children like toys, hugging them close to her chest, refusing to let the monsters of the night grab at any more of the people she loved.

Unfortunately, her grip faltered for mere seconds when Emily slipped out into the hands of Ian Doyle and subsequently, into her grave. And that headstone might as well have been a knife plunging into her heart, it broke her so badly.

Then, miraculously, she rose from six feet under, stitching Penelope's heart back together slowly-the scar would remain, like always, but it would keep beating, keep pumping blood, allow her to breathe again. Emily was _back_! She wasn't dead! How could anyone be angry at that?

And then, JJ came back, too! The Pentagon let her go, and all was right, and sunshine, and rainbows, and unicorns...Garcia's rose-tinted glasses prevented her from seeing what was going wrong, and by the time she did, it was too late.

Her bubble was burst and tears cascaded like waterfalls when she read Reid's note to Henry. She was such a sensitive woman and she loved too much to be hurt like this in quick succession. Any healing Prentiss might have brought back from the dead was erased almost immediately, as her little world of color and peace collapsed into a dystopian hellhole.

And she was crushed a little bit more as her macho chocolate thunder cried with her. Derek Morgan never cried.

All the love Penelope had left in her would barely keep _her_ alive. The bubbly, life-of-the-party Garcia would be gone for quite some time.

* * *

It had taken her some time to come to terms with it.

At first, Emily couldn't understand why what she had said to Reid on the jet was cause for anger. After all, she was only trying to help JJ and Reid get back on friendly terms, and it wasn't okay for him to be angry about any of it, right? It wasn't _him._

Then she talked to Rossi. And realized that was _exactly_ why he got mad. It wasn't her job to fix their relationship! They would sort it out, or not. Sure, they were family, but god forbid one get involved in the affairs of their in-laws. They would have to work toward it themselves.

She also realized what an _ass_ she had been. It was beyond disgusting that Prentiss had tried to regulate his feelings. He had every right to feel whatever it is he felt. Even if it wasn't like him. After all, this entire situation was extremely out of the ordinary.

Guilt tripping him was not putting out the embers. No, it was firing a missile at a crack in a dam, foolishly hoping the rocket would wedge itself into a hole and plug the leak-not once stopping to consider the extremely obvious repercussions, the absolute absurdity of colliding a high-powered attack to an already unstable wall...when it all could have been solved with patience and some wet concrete.

Her guilt trip itself wasn't exactly accurate either. Yes, Emily had definitely cried over losing her friends, but she was still able to speak to one of them daily, and walk around knowing they were alive and well because of her being in Paris. She did not understand the depth of emotion Spencer had felt until she'd visited her _own grave_. That was when she had an epiphany.

They _carried_ her corpse. They _watched_ her be lowered into the ground. They _knew_ they'd never see her again. They _read_ the date of her final breath, knowing they were close by but couldn't be farther away.

And after all that, what had she done? She'd lied to him to try to get him to forgive her. Reid was often referred to as the glue of the group, always the de-escalator, always one for forgiveness and empathy, the one everyone turned to with their secrets. But no one was there for him when he got hurt.

Even Olympus would fall without its glue.

* * *

Ha.

What a best friend _she_ had.

She _only_ lied to protect a family member. She only lied to keep her safe. I mean, she was under orders. Why was Reid mad at JJ for Hotch's decision? It wasn't like she _enjoyed_ watching him cry into her shoulder and fall into a deep depression.

They all should have understood. _Reid_ should have understood. He was an adult, he knew lying was sometimes acceptable. Especially when it was necessary to keep someone alive! But no. He just acted like a petulant child, not wanting to deal with an inconvenient truth.

She even said _she was sorry!_ JJ didn't mean it, of course, but it was supposed to count for something! And there was no way Spence actually thought about taking Dilaudid again. He was just talking out of his ass to get an advantage in the argument. He _wouldn't_ throw four years of sobriety out of the window. He wouldn't.

And now, he just up and quit? Just because no one validated his little temper tantrum? Spence was acting like Henry when she didn't let him have cookies for breakfast. It wasn't JJ's fault! Why couldn't he move past it and just let it go? She was there for him when he needed comfort ten weeks in a row. Why didn't he sacrifice his anger, when she sacrificed her time?

It was a fair comparison, in JJ's mind. But no! Dr. Spencer Reid was just too much of a genius to deal with it maturely, as was apparent. He was just being a rude dirtbag who was throwing a hissy fit. He'd come back soon. He would miss the BAU too much. He would miss _her_ too much.

After all, they were best friends. They told each other everything (well, except classified things), they never lied to each other (well, except when she needed to), they always cared for each other (well, except for when he was a baby), and they never tried to turn someone else on each other (well, except for Emily recently).

But it was okay, because it was JJ doing it, and she had kids, meaning whatever she did was right. She had a good reason.

Internally, she recognized the gaslighting and blame-shifting, how _she_ was acting more like a child than anyone else, but she chose not to address it. Blissful ignorance was her gameplan. It was everyone's fault but hers.

 _tbc._ now, i've got one more chapter to finish this all up, but this choice is now up to you ;)). there's one of two ways the conclusion can go. and i want your input in the comments/reviews. either choose option 1, or option 2, and lmk :))). ty again for all the love. actually, i think i'll write both endings :).


	4. the blood.

**a/n: this was the ending i most wanted to write, because it isn't cliche. Most of the 7x02 spinoffs have a happy ending, so i wanted to change it up. Fret not, there will be happier endings. This didn't come out as well as i had hoped, but i need to get this out asap. Enjoy!**

"I miss him. It just isn't the same without him."

* * *

"He would've cracked this case wide open."

* * *

"We won't ever see him again, will we?"

* * *

10 years had passed since Dr. Spencer Reid handed in his resignation and departed from the FBI Building forever. No one had heard from him after that day. At first, they'd looked for him, around all the privacy restrictions the Section Chief had put on his name. When months passed with no avail, the team was disheartened.

Senator Cramer reopened the investigation into the events of the Doyle case, and it was guaranteed that someone would have to take the fall this time. It ended up being Hotch and almost JJ-Hotch sacrificed himself further in order to get her off with reprimands and salary deductions.

Rossi retired in 2018, and Morgan and Emily were poised to follow soon. The original BAU added three new members, and none of them had ever met Spencer Reid. As such, they were always berating the others about letting go and moving on. This was something the two refused to do, no matter how much JJ sided with the newbies.

The team's relationships never quite recovered. Prentiss and JJ stayed relatively close, but both Rossi and Morgan refused to speak much with the blonde until she admitted her mistake, which she never did. The team's case completion dropped significantly as well due to the loss of cohesion and a brilliant mind. From 97% to 65%. Still average, but not anything close to the efficiency of times past. It was understandable.

What no one understood was why Reid hadn't tried to communicate with _anyone_ from his past. No one showed any sign of being contacted by him. His mother had died from an aneurysm two months after he disappeared, and Bennington reported zero visits from him at the Sanitarium and at the funeral. Neither Rossi nor Morgan ever received correspondence of any kind, and Garcia's trackers were useless as well.

The team ended up giving up hope that Spencer was still alive.

* * *

That was until they flew in to consult on a case in a small city on the US-Mexico border, 300 miles from the Doctor's hometown. A simple triple homicide that seemed to have drug ties, so the DEA called in a group of elite profilers in hopes of infiltrating a cartel. The team landed in Yuma and drove a couple hours to Las Lunes.

The sheriff greeted them at the edge of town, surrounded by a swarm of federal agents, all of whom were there until the BAU determined the profile of the killer. "I'm Sheriff Rodrigues. You guys are more Feds, right?"

* * *

"We've got two unidentified white female victims, and one Latino John Doe. They've all been picked up before on possession and distribution charges, but they always get everything dropped before we can even process them. That's why we have to go interview junkies on the street for intel," DEA Agent Polloros informed the BAU.

"Will they know? Most cartels swear their members to high discretion," Morgan asked.

"Most won't, but there's one guy in this town. Real smart, used to work with some bigshots. Got hooked on something accidentally, sheriff says," said a LEO passing by the conversation. "Knows everything about everyone. Shame he lives on the streets, but he helps us out so much, we let him slide."

JJ scoffed, condescending as usual. "Most druggies hate cops. I'll bet he's nothing more than some addict that got lucky once or twice."

"Ma'am, all due respect," Rodrigues started, walking into the room, "do not insult my department's resource collection skills. Stephen's a real asset."

Prentiss started toward the SUVs, dragging the other two senior agents with her while she addressed the three newbies. "You three can handle yourselves!"

* * *

The team pulled up in front of a dilapidated motel, abandoned before many alive today were born. The place exhibited extreme disrepair, but the locals assured the BAU it was where this mysterious Stephen lived. JJ still hadn't warmed up to the idea, but they went to find him.

Rodrigues called out to him. "Stephen, we got some Feds here about those three murders!"

A voice that was vaguely familiar but too distorted to make out clearly echoed back. "I already spoke to the DEA. Bunch of idiots if you ask me, Rod."

"It's the FBI," the sheriff yelled in response.

They all heard a few odd rustles and then footsteps before a rickety door swung open on the ground floor of the former residence. The LEO motioned everyone to follow him and entered the room.

Sunlight filtered through a ceiling peppered with various holes, large and small, walls stripped bare to the brick and wooden beams barely supporting the ancient structure. Derek, Emily, and JJ stepped in, noting the tattered state of the complex books littering the floor. In the corner was a ragged tent, and a face poked out.

A face that stopped everyone in their tracks.

"Here you go, Rod," Stephen started, handing Rodrigues a piece of paper; he froze when he saw the faces of the FBI Agents who were staring back at him with wide-eyed looks on their faces. " _You."_ He snarled with venom.

Morgan's jaw dropped as he took in the sunk-in, tired face of one Spencer Reid. "Kid-"

" _Out._ " Reid ordered. "Rod, you ever bring these idiots within 50 yards of me again, the only information you'll be getting from me is how fat a shit I took last night."

"No, Spencer, listen-"

"No, _you_ listen, _Agent Prentiss_. _You_ did this to me!" Reid yelled. He pulled up his sleeve and flaunted an inhuman amount of track marks, arm skinnier than anyone had thought possible. "All of you. I never want to see your faces again."

JJ tried to speak, surprisingly, but before she got to open her mouth, she was cut off, too. "I don't even want to hear what _you_ have to say, Jareau. _Best friennnnd._ Let's see what you cost me-my career, a family, my sanity, my sobriety, my home, my mom-"

"Your...your mom?" Morgan whispered.

"Guess why she had that aneurysm? She _found_ my heroin. Mom fell and died because of you. Because of _you_. Now I'm constantly higher than a kite, because whenever I close my eyes-I SEE WHAT I CAN NEVER HAVE. I see _you_ , Prentiss, I remember watching as the _light left your eyes._ I see you, Morgan, and I remember our brotherhood, and I curse myself for ever fooling myself into thinking it could last. I see Henry, Jennifer, and I remember what I felt like as my dad left, and I remember _you_ making me do that."

A stunned silence fell upon the five in the room, Reid glaring at the two female agents with such malice, simply looking at his bloodshot eyes made Morgan want to wince.

He spoke again. "I wanted to have _kids._ I wanted to live out my days saving people. I wanted to find a cure to schizophrenia. Guess that'll never happen, now huh?" A mirthless laugh escaped. "Look at me now. A junkie, strung out, who's never felt happiness. I turned _forty_ this year. I'd thought I'd have felt what it was like to be in love by now…"

A sob racked his frail body as the tall man stood. "The only relationship I have is with these chemicals. And they, too, betrayed me. My liver is close to failing, my heart close to stopping, my brain marred and damaged. I have _nothing_ ," Spencer said.

Suddenly gathering himself, Reid started hurling bottles of Dilaudid at his former family. " _You did this to me you did this to me you did this to me you did this to me your fault your fault your fault GO SOLVE YOUR CASE-"_

His delusional screams receded into the distance as the team was chased away.

* * *

"Overdose…" the coroner said sadly as they watched the lifeless body of Spencer Reid be hauled away into a body bag.

Morgan cried. He cried as he learned Reid committed suicide after seeing the team again. He would later take an early retirement as his mind recovered from snapping at the sight of a brunette body and wide eyes.

Emily's guilt nearly broke her. She knew she'd caused this. Her, Hotch, and especially JJ. She would never recover from the knowledge that the medley of drugs that stopped Reid's heart were in there because of her.

JJ refused to acknowledge it. That wasn't _Spence._ That was some clone, some sick freak playing a prank on them, Spence would never do that. Acknowledging it would mean admitting she caused this, and she never would. But it was.

The blood was on her hands.

_Y'all want a happier ending? I promise it won't be as rushed as this one :))._


	5. 🅤🅟🅓🅐🅣🅔 | 1 september 2020.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ not a real update unfortunately ~

alright folks gotta get this out. unfortunately, school has started, meaning updates will be sporadic at best. i'll try and get a chapter out at least once a week but with the stress of my schedule, i doubt i'll be able to get much writing in. fear not, this story has not been abandoned; it is simply on pause for the time being. i hope you all understand.


	6. cw5.

**a/n: well, this is the final installment of evidence not proof, i.e. ending 2. i won't be writing ff for a bit as i work on my novel, but i have three longterm fics on the backburner that you might be seeing soon. i hope yall are satisfied.**

He'd never felt freer.

* * *

The FBI Building receded in the distance.

* * *

Those eyes would never set its sight on that bullpen again.

* * *

But where would he go now?

* * *

Two years had passed, and while Reid sent some occasional letters to Morgan and Rossi, they hadn't seen him nor heard his voice in a long time. Whatever correspondence the BAU did receive was very vague about details and took the utmost care to act as if the rest of the team mysteriously dropped dead.

Which hurt. The team had long since vowed to make amends, even JJ. After Hotch realized she wasn't able to recognize her mistake, he sat her down and explained that while it was _his_ own fault that this whole situation had happened, Reid blamed her for trying to guilt-trip him into recovering emotionally.

"Oh. Oh my god, Hotch. How the-how the hell did I _miss_ that? He must hate me," JJ had wailed when the realization dawned. "I can't believe I really-I really said all that?"

A grim nod came from Hotch.

"I've got to, I've gotta apologize, I mean…Henry misses him so much and it's all my fault…"

"It's not all yours, JJ," Hotch corrected. "It's everyone's. The only true innocent left is Rossi."

"What about Morgan? And Garcia?" she asked.

"They kept their own secrets. It's only Dave and Spencer who remained blameless."

"Do you think we'll see Spence soon?" JJ asked desperately.

Only a shrug.

* * *

"It's 2:30am and Hotch told us not to bring our go bags," Morgan noted. "This can't be good."

"Do you...think it's about…" Penelope started.

"It could very well be," said Rossi.

The team entered the briefing room, equipped without their usual clothes and toiletries. It was a very confusing endeavor, seeing as they'd only been called in once like this before: when Hotch announced that Reid had left.

This time around, it turned out to be a case. And an odd one at that. Someone was kidnapping US Army soldiers at Fort Bragg and Army CID couldn't profile them accurately. They needed to bring in the big guns, and the BAU was just that.

"I'm sure you're all wondering why I told you not to bring your go bags," Hotch said and everyone nodded. "It's because for this operation, we're going to need to blend in, go shallow cover. We're going to be posing as servicemen."

So they were going to be wearing army scrubs then.

When the team arrived at Fort Bragg a couple hours later, the team was undercover as PFC Jareau, CPL Morgan, SGT Prentiss, SFC Rossi, and SFC Hotchner. With seven kidnappings, the team had a lot of data to work with, and almost immediately they began working.

The profile was close to being established, when the team encountered a hurdle. They were talking to Garcia, narrowing down Army personnel, trying to find a common thread between all seven victims. They were close and they knew it.

"Okay, we know we've got three privates, a sergeant, a sergeant first class, and a master sergeant missing," Morgan said, looking at the evidence board. "And a Lieutenant Colonel."

"That's very specific, isn't it?" JJ posed rhetorically.

"You're right!" Lightbulbs went off above Rossi's head. "Garcia, check what Army operations use that personnel structure."

"Bingo, Rossi," Penelope yelled after some furious typing. "Black Ops in Eastern Europe and Russia use the 761CMD unit."

"Black ops?" Hotch asked incredulously. This was going to be a lot more difficult than he had originally anticipated. The US Army was not one to be handing out sensitive info left and right. "It explains why no one was able to answer questions regarding the victimology."

"But we definitely have some problems now," sighed JJ. Working at the Pentagon and in Afghanistan told her that squeezing enough information out of the XO of the unit would be painstakingly difficult.

But it wasn't. When the BAU asked their Army CID representative for info about Black Ops, she just laughed. "Oh boy, you'll have a field day with _him_ ," the Colonel had chuckled. Apparently the missing Lieutenant General worked solely at the behest of CW5 Blackhawk, an obvious codename. "Go ahead down to the SpecOps Command and ask for him."

They were expecting a _lot_ more resistance, so saying the BAU were startled would be an understatement. "Did that just happen? Did an _Army CID Colonel_ just _willingly_ give us information?" This incredulous tone belonged to Rossi.

* * *

"Maybe we shouldn't have jumped to conclusions so quickly," JJ groaned, keeled over. It had been nearly a full hour of jumping from office to assistant to lieutenant to office. "This CW5 Blackhawk guy is a slippery mother-"

A disapproving glare from a passing Sergeant silenced her. Said Sergeant also raised an eyebrow. "You're looking for Chief Warrant Officer 5 Blackhawk?" The team nodded and the man had the audacity to _laugh._ "I can't believe you're a Sergeant First Class and still getting hazed."

"Hazed?" Hotch was confused.

"If you're looking for info on Black Ops, the first time you ask, it's Army tradition to send you on a wild goose chase," he explained. "Here, I'll help you out since it's obvious none of you are actually in the Army."

This time, the BAU was directed to the correct office on the topmost level in the Special Operations Command. The lobby was lined with rooms, and walking through the high-ceilinged corridor, the SSAs got a distinct feeling of importance.

Finally, they reached office 1020, the last one, and obviously the one whose occupant had the most importance in the building. The plaque outside read something along the lines of "Chief Warrant Officer Red" but the BAU paid no mind to plaques.

They probably should have.

It turned out the office itself had two offices, connected by a reception you set foot in directly following the door from the lobby. On either side of a secretary's desk were a door each, one reading "Command" and the other "CW5".

The secretary barely spared them a glance as they walked in, clearly already expecting them. "You're late," she droned in a bored tone. "Go on in, the Chief's been waiting for the past half an hour."

As the five field agents stepped toward the room labeled CW5, she grumbled, "You guys are worse than the privates. So much for being hotshot FBI agents…"

These hotshot FBI agents received the surprise of their life when they walked into the office of the Chief Warrant Officer's office. At first, it was normal. A tall, lanky man had his back turned to the team, hands clasped behind his back, looking at something in the distance through a window.

Bookshelves lined with literary works of every kind lined the walls neatly, the place looking pristine, worthy of a man of this CW5's stature. Hotch greeted, "Chief Warrant Officer Blackhawk, I'm Aaron Hotchner, we work for the FBI-"

"I know who you are." The voice. The voice. The voice.

It sent literal chills down JJ's back. _"...is because i trusted you…"_

"I know why you're here." The voice. The voice. The voice.

The cold and uninviting tone rang loudly in Morgan's ear. " _...pretty boy…"_

Chief Warrant Officer 5 Doctor Spencer William Reid turned around, and for a moment, the earth stopped turning.

* * *

pin.

drop.

silence.

The first thing the team's eyes were drawn to was the silver band resting securely upon the left ring finger, the metal acting as a tightening noose around the neck of the team. _He's married._

The second thing the team saw was the picture of a beautiful woman in a park, pushing a stroller, the glass from the frame threatening to scratch the eyeballs out of everyone involved. _He has a kid._

The third thing the team noticed was the defiance in Reid's body, the way he held himself reminiscent of a lightning rod, the way he seemed to command all the energy in the atmosphere of the room, not so much as a mouse daring to squeak until the Doctor gave permission.

Finally, Spencer spoke. "Well, it's been a long time."

The floodgates opened, and a chorus of " _what the hell" "the army?!" "don't you long time me" "hey, kid"_ erupted.

But he held up a hand and all chatter drew to a close immediately. The authority he held suddenly entrapping the team into a silenced state, even the infamous Aaron Hotchner, who had never complied with such a brusque order _in his life_.

"In due time." Those three words held more confidence than anyone had seen Spencer exhibit in 31 years of life.

* * *

The case was wrapped fairly quickly, the information Reid had provided proving invaluable to determining the chain of events that had led to the unsub trying to torture information out of the seven victims.

Later, after the unsub had been safely apprehended, the man of the hour simply walked past them, saying, "I guess it's time we talk."

And talk they did.

First, about how he had ended up as one of the highest-ranking technical specialists in the United States Armed Forces. "When I left the FBI, the entire intelligence committee showed up at my doorstep." When the BAU said nothing, he elaborated. "No, literally"-here, he showed a picture-"I woke up the day after my resignation went through after one of the CIA agents was thrown through my door by the DHS guy."

"Anyway, after I had wrestled away the 15 different employment contracts from everyone, I looked through everything and realized that it was basically between NASA and the Army. They both paid the same but I realized that as a CW5, I was one of the highest ranks in the military. I could do so much good from this position. So I took it. End of story. Questions?"

"WHAT THE FUCK MAN?!" Morgan exploded. "YOU DON'T FEEL THE NEED TO EXPLAIN THE FACT YOU'RE MARRIED?!"

Reid laughed, and it was then everyone realized their beloved doctor had just manipulated everyone into getting frustrated. Gone was the stumbling, unconfident genius. He was now an intelligent, self-assured man. "Of course."

Spencer took out a couple of pictures, of his wedding day (beautiful but with only Reid's mother attending from his side), of his wife, of his little girl, of the day she was born. "I met Lavender two months after I joined the Army. I had just finished Basic, and I was training in weapons when I realized she was my instructor. Three weeks later, I asked her out. I married her last year. My daughter, Rose, was born two months ago. The name was a play on Lavender's," he laughed.

Rossi looked wounded. "You got _married_ and you didn't tell me? You didn't invite us?"

Spencer looked very confused. "I didn't think you wanted anything to do with me after I left on such a scathing note."

That was enough for JJ. "You idiot!" she cried, and launched herself into Reid's arms. For his part, the Doctor seemed no longer scared of physical contact, although he still looked around confusedly.

Knowingly, the team filed out of the room, understanding there were some arguments left to be hashed out.

Spencer could feel the wet tears through the thick green of his uniform. "Hey, what's wrong?" he whispered soothingly.

Through racking sobs, JJ apologized profusely. "I'm-I'm...so sorry S-Spence," she hiccupped. "It's my fault y-you left, I-I'm so sorry that...I d-didn't let you feel. You-You had e-every right…"

"Jennifer, it's okay, it's not like I acted all that maturely either," he joked.

"We do have an uncanny ability to do that, don't we?" JJ replied, face still buried into his uniform.

"You can say that again."

At this, the blonde looked up, snuggling into the crook of his neck, both legs wrapped around the waist of the taller man she was embracing. If he didn't know better, Spencer would think he was hugging his wife right now.

"C-can we meet her?" she asked timidly.

"Who? Lavender?"

"And Rose?"

"Do you mean Roslyn 'Rose' Reid?"

JJ's head shot up. "You named your daughter a-after m-my sister?"

Reid smiled. "You named Henry my godson. I named Rose after your sister. We may have misunderstandings, JJ, but I'll always love you."

From the other side of the door, Lavender and Roslyn Reid smiled, happy the man they loved the most was reunited with the only family he'd ever had. And although the little one didn't know why she was smiling, or even that she _was,_ growing up with the BAU would make her life the best it possibly could have been.


End file.
